


try to catch it like lightning

by Anonymous



Series: starkerotic's fic collection [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Big Bad Wolf - Freeform, Breathplay, Breeding, Bruises, Implied Mpreg, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Love Bites, M/M, Metal Arm Kink, Panty Kink, Secret Admirer, Sharing Clothes, Smoking, Spilled coffee, Spin the Bottle, because obviously, ficlet challenge, ive been sickly and stressed but now im catching up on what ive been slacking on lmao, showering together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22446061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Twenty-nine days of 100-500 word ficlets for the WinterSpider February Ficlet Challenge.Day 11: Shower
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Series: starkerotic's fic collection [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1384960
Comments: 16
Kudos: 111
Collections: Anonymous, Winterspider February Ficlet Challenge 2020





	1. day 1: wearing the other's clothing

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from lana del rey's "happiness is a butterfly"
> 
> y'all have no idea how difficult it was for me to keep below 500 words on some these

It should look ridiculous, the way Bucky’s shirt hangs completely off one of Peter’s slim shoulders, the hem drooping to mid-thigh; the half-unbuttoned front, haphazardly done up and uneven, combined with the dried line of drool down the younger man’s chin, should look sloppy and not at all attractive, but all Bucky can think is-

_ Fuckin’ gorgeous. _

“Coffee?” Peter’s eyes are barely open, his voice strained as he fights through a yawn. His collarbones are exposed, delicate and pale and just as appealing as the rest of him.

Bucky swipes his thumb over the dried saliva, brushing away the crusty flecks, a tiny smile twitching his lips when Peter pouts, eyelids still heavy. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Mm,” hums the boy and shuffles forward, cuddles into Bucky’s broad chest, closes his eyes and breathes the older man in when Bucky settles two large hands at his waist. “You’re good to me.”

Bucky’s smile spreads, and he hides it in Peter’s tangled curls, the scents of vanilla and cinnamon light and familiar. “Ditto, doll.” Peter snorts softly, a rush of air from his nose, and Bucky knows he’s rolling his eyes, but he remains glued to Bucky’s front. His fingers flex, flesh and metal in perfect sync, trailing down to narrow hips, feeling no lines beneath the fabric there; Peter must have awoken and just pulled on Bucky’s shirt, too tired to bother with the underwear Bucky distinctly recalls tossing somewhere near the foot of their bed the night before. His hands slide lower, slipping below the hem and cupping the warm skin underneath.

Peter  _ purrs. _

“I want breakfast,” he declares, leaning back just enough to look Bucky in the eyes, warm honey and stormy skies, “then we’re gonna lay on the couch and watch questionable sci-fi films. All day.”

It’s an intention they can’t really vow to stay true to (not in good conscience, anyway, not if Steve or Tony or any of the others send out a call for help), but - barring emergencies - Bucky can’t think of any other way he’d rather spend his day.

“Sounds like a plan, doll.”


	2. day 2: secret admirer

Bucky chooses his gifts carefully, things he hears Peter mention to his best friend at his locker near Bucky’s, things he knows Peter will see as thoughtful, nothing specific enough to give himself away. The way Peter’s face lights up every time he spies a new gift in front of his locker sends Bucky’s heart racing.

When he overhears Peter on his phone, telling someone (Ned, Bucky assumes) how he’d love to have a specific LEGO Star Trek model, Bucky knows exactly what his next gift will be.

He waits a couple of weeks, waits for Peter’s birthday to draw nearer; finally, the day of, Bucky places the neatly-wrapped gift (he’s had to ask Rebecca to help with the wrappings on all the gifts; as precise as he can be with knives in the kitchen and saws in the workshop, anything wrapped by him looks as if a toddler had done it, half a roll of tape attempting to mask all the uneven corners and rips and tears) in front of Peter’s locker.

“I’d hoped it was you.”

Bucky jolts, whipping around to come face-to-face with Peter Parker, earnest brown eyes (more honey and sunlight than coffee and earth) shining up at him.

Cocking his head, floppy curls and bright eyes making him look more puppy than person, Peter smiles. “I didn’t  _ know, _ but I’d hoped,” he says, gaze soft and beautiful and fixed on Bucky. “You always leave them before first class, and I thought -  _ hoped _ \- that you’d leave one today, so I wanted to get here early, just in case.” His expression shifts, a hint of worry trickling in. “Is that- Is that okay? I didn’t really consider that maybe you’d want to stay secret.” He bites his lower lip, fretting, and Bucky wants to smooth the dent between his eyebrows with a kiss.

“It’s fine,” Bucky tells him sincerely and picks up the box, offering it to Peter. “I never really intended to be quiet about it, but then…” Bucky shrugs, sheepish. “You looked like you were  _ surprised  _ that someone liked you enough to buy you anything, and I wanted- It was just nice to see how happy you were when you got ‘em,” he finishes in a rush, and Peter  _ beams. _

“Can I open it?” he asks softly.

Bucky hums. “Well, I didn’t offer a life-debt to get my sister to wrap it for nothing.”

Peter’s laughter rings in the empty hallway as he rips the paper apart; the little gasp he lets out, the wide grin as he sees the LEGO logo, sends a shiver of satisfaction through Bucky’s heart.

Peter bites his lip again, and he says, “Maybe we can build it together? This Friday night?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate.

“I’d like that.”


	3. day 3: smoking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a day late and lackluster, but it's my goal to actually complete all 29 days, so here we are.

It’s a moonless night, the alley behind the bar lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights on the main walk. Bucky’s cigarette shines bright in the darkness as he takes a drag and holds it in.

“Those things’ll kill you, y’know.”

“How could I not,” Bucky hums with a crooked smile, releasing the smoke in a billowing cloud above his head, “when you remind me every time you catch me with one?”

Peter tilts his head as he props himself against the wall of the neighboring building, honey-smooth eyes as lovely as ever, even in the dim light, amusement evident in the way the corners of his lips quirk. “Well, if you’d  _ stop, _ I wouldn’t have to nag you about it.” It’s a playful jab, familiar and sweet.

Bucky pushes off the wall and invades Peter’s space, one hand propped by his head, hips tucking and nudging close to the shorter man’s, keeping him in place with the single point of contact. “Maybe if you’d give me some  _ incentive _ to quit, baby doll,” he murmurs, leaning in to bump his nose lightly against Peter’s, “I’d listen more often.” Here, he leans his head back, pulls another drag from the cigarette, and expertly sends three rings of smoke into the air.

Unexpectedly, Peter agrees, “I think you may be right.”

Something in his voice makes Bucky wary. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” he hums. One slim-fingered hand lifts, cups Bucky’s bearded jaw, thumb sliding along his lower lip, Peter smiling when Bucky presses a kiss to the center of it. “What do you think would be proper  _ incentive _ ?”

_ Trap, _ Bucky’s mind whispers.  _ He’s reeling you in. _ “I can think of quite a few things I’d trade smoking for, for you, doll.”

“I’m sure you can.” Peter leans in, hand slipping to Bucky’s shoulder, lips a hair’s breadth away from Bucky’s. “I’ve just thought of something  _ better, _ though,” he tells Bucky, leaning into Bucky’s body entirely, their lips brushing.

Those honey-light eyes always pull him in. “What’s that, baby?”

Peter slips from between the wall and Bucky, all points of contact  _ gone, _ a situational whiplash.

“Keep smoking,” Peter offers as he reaches the alley opening and turns back, a wicked grin lighting his face, “and I’ll bring  _ Steve _ into my one-man-crusade to get you to stop.”

Steve, with the disappointed glances, the statistics, the  _ lectures. _

“Asshole.”

“Insult me again, baby,” Peter laughs, “and I won’t tell you my plan for  _ positive  _ reinforcement.”

“I’m listening.”


	4. day 4: spin the bottle

The suspense eats at Peter, wraps tight around his throat and makes it difficult to breathe. The bottle slows as it nears Quentin, and the senior boy smirk when it freezes in front of him; Peter doesn’t know the older boy, not really, and the look in his eyes - intense, almost  _ predatory _ \- makes him want to  _ keep _ it that way.

A hand closes around the body of the bottle, twists it one person to the right.

“Looks like it’s you and me,” the owner of the hand tells Peter. His eyes are the color of a winter sky and just as calming as Peter looks into them.

“Real cute, Barnes,” Quentin sneers, “but it landed on me.” He reaches, but another hand (feminine, well-manicured) slaps it away.

“We all see it pointing at Barnes, Beck,” Natasha Romanov, another senior, huffs. “Pipe down and accept that you lost, same as when you lost your place as football captain to him.”

Beck’s face pales before it reddens entirely, furious; he says nothing, however, only pushes up from the floor and snatches up his beer before walking away, anger clear in every step.

“Alright, kids, get it done! The bottle has spoken!”

Natasha shoves her elbow into Clint Barton’s side, but Peter ignores it and the elicited grunt of pain in favor of panicking a little as the football captain moves across the small circle of juniors and seniors to kneel in front of Peter.

“Hi,” the older boy murmurs, a smile quirking his lips.

“Um. Hey.”

“Sorry about that, if you wanted to kiss him,” Barnes tells him quietly, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all, to Peter’s ears. “But you looked like a deer in headlights when it hit on him.”

“No, I, um.”  _ I didn’t like the look in his eyes, _ he wants to explain, but it sounds stupid in his head, so he blurts out instead, “I’d kiss you over him any day of the week.”

Vaguely, he hears a strangled laugh to his right, but the only thing he’s focused on is the way  _ Bucky’s _ eyes brighten, the small smile curling his lips. “What a coincidence,” teases the other boy, “I feel the same.”

“Come  _ on, _ Buck, let’s  _ go _ !” Clint demands.

When Bucky cups Peter’s jaw and leans in, Peter’s breath catches, his heart fluttering as soft lips press lightly to his forehead before the older boy pulls back, smiling. “Tomorrow is another day of the week; how about we test that claim?”

Peter only nods mutely, a blush flooding his cheeks, while Clint groans, “That’s  _ not _ how you play the game, Barnes.”

“Fuck off, Clint.”


	5. day 5: gazing into eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've been sickly and gross, so i'm a few days late and catching up, haha.

“Sugar,” Bucky begins, taking in the room’s setup, the candles and food and the quiet music playing from the hidden speakers in the ceiling, “you’re a gift.”

The blush that blossoms high on the younger man’s cheeks is adorable, the pleased little smile his words bring to Peter’s lips sweet and soft. “It’s just lasagna,” he murmurs, a little shyly, shrugging.

Bucky moves, cups Peter’s face in both hands. Their eyes meet, ocean and mahogany, as Bucky touches their foreheads together; they stay like that for a long moment, silent and easy, the flickering lights from the candles on the dining table casting spider-like shadows from Peter’s already long eyelashes over his cheekbones.

Today has been one of the bad days, one of the days that are filled with more bad memories than good, and he isn’t sure quite how Peter knows ( _ Natasha, _ the voice in his mind whispers), but the moment he stepped through the elevator doors, he’d felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, the flashes of blood and pain and metal crushing fragile bones muted against the gentle eyes staring back at him.

Their foreheads touch. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes Peter in, lets the peace of his presence settle in his bones.


	6. day 6: metal arm kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, i'm not projecting my obsession with bucky's metal arm onto peter. how dare you suggest that.

Peter traces the hard lines of the plates of Bucky’s arm, the silver gleaming in the overhead light. He knows that Bucky woke the moment Peter had first shifted, nap interrupted by his ever-present awareness, but the soldier doesn’t move, allows Peter this rare indulgence, and Peter loves him for it.

He links their fingers, warm flesh tying with cold metal, and a hot feeling slinks around in his chest, curls in the pit of his stomach, fierce and wanting.

“Tired of lookin’, doll?” Bucky murmurs when Peter pulls away. His eyes are still closed when Peter looks, but there’s a smile, fond and peaceful, gracing his lips.

“Never,” replies the younger man and shifts, straddles Bucky’s hips in a smooth motion. “You should be in an art gallery or a museum, the way you look- oh, wait.” Bucky snorts, swats his thigh with his flesh hand. “I love looking at you.” There’s no response, but a dent forms between Bucky’s eyebrows, and that- _That_ isn’t acceptable, that Bucky doesn’t think he _deserves_ adoration, admiration, _love_ . Peter insists, “It’s true - every part of you, even-” He tangles their fingers again, swoons at the mechanical whir as the plates readjust. “- _especially_ this.” He releases a shaky breath, brings Bucky’s hand up, shifting his grip to the strong wrist. Bucky’s jaw clenches as Peter leans in, thighs clenching around the older man’s, tongue flicking out to lick at the tip of one metal finger.

“Pete.” Bucky’s eyes are open now, darkened with lust.

“Sometimes, I dream about it - about you holding me down with just your hand, tight around my neck or bruising my wrists while you fuck me.” Peter pushes two fingers through his lips, tongue darting playfully between them. “I think-” He rolls his hips, cock hard and needy, voice high and breathless. “I think, the hottest one? You- you had me, face-down, and ate me out until I _screamed_ and then-” Bucky slips his hand from Peter’s, slides it down, down, to the waistband of the too-big sweatpants ( _Bucky’s_ sweatpants), metal tapping against burning flesh as Peter plants his hands over broad shoulders, grinds down a little harder. “-then you fucked me with your fingers, and I begged and begged until you- until you put your whole fist in me, and _god_ .” Bucky’s hard beneath him, thick and hot under the two layers between them. “It felt like nothing I’d ever felt before, and I- I want-” He’s breathing hard, panting like a dog in heat, hips rolling faster, the friction rough, and _he’s almost there_ -

Hard metal curls around his waist, forces him to an abrupt halt. Peter whines in betrayal, but Bucky smiles, crooked and sultry and downright _devious_.

“Well, sweetheart,” he drawls, Brooklyn accent thicker than usual. “I’m all about making all your dreams come true.”


	7. day 7: breath play

Peter had thought, had been _sure_ , that this would be The Thing - the one thing that Bucky would refuse to do.

(In a roundabout way, he’d been right, but then Bucky had suggested-)

“Again.”

 _Fuck._ The obscene sounds of sweat-slick skin on sweat-slick skin echo throughout the bedroom, the insides of Peter’s thighs sticking to Bucky’s upper thighs on every rough bounce, every slick slide down the soldier’s thick cock.

He curls his fingers once more, fitting tight against the two points of Bucky’s throat, exactly where he’d read to put pressure, and-

Bucky’s eyes roll back, his jaw dropping open, and his fingers tighten painfully at the curves of Peter’s hips as he forces the smaller body down, every inch of his cock buried within Peter’s body as he shudders and comes, bucking sporadically as he fills Peter up. A strangled gasp escapes him when Peter releases his grip.

“Fuck, baby,” pants Bucky, eyes closed, mouth wide. “ _Goddamn_.”

Peter shifts off of Bucky and to the side, wrinkling his nose when he feels a thick line of come slide down his thigh. “I’ll be back,” he murmurs and leans over to press a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s pouty lips. “Need a shower before the sheets get all messy.”

“Not so fast,” Bucky tells him, eyes still closed, hand closing around Peter’s wrist before he can slip from their bed. “’S’my fault you’re ‘all messy’,” he quotes with a laugh, still breathless. “Least I can do,” he grins, finally opening his eyes, “is clean you up.”

Peter’s face _burns_. “I-”

“There’s more than one way for you to take my breath away, baby,” Bucky drawls. He gathers enough energy to lift an arm, hand moving to pat his own face. “Hop on, sugar.”


	8. day 8: bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm extremely behind thanks to sickness and mental distress from my now-former job, but i'm better and start a less stressful job monday, so ya girl is gonna get shit d o n e now.

The bruises never stay.

The beautiful patchwork of discolorations, ranging from small and barely there to the size of a tennis ball, beautiful to Peter as he relives the memory of Bucky taking his time, sucking and nipping at the skin of his neck, his shoulders, the insides of his thighs. ( _ Those are the best ones, _ he thinks dreamily, the rough scratch of Bucky’s stubble scraping against his sensitive skin, the delicious pain of the beard burn that lasts an even shorter time than the love bites.)

If there is one thing the spider bite gave him that Peter is both grateful for and utterly put out by, it’s his advanced healing factor. Sure, the short recovery time from broken bones and wounds that would otherwise be life-threatening is great and all, but… Peter wants to see Bucky’s marks on him, wants  _ everyone  _ to know that he is Bucky’s and Bucky is his. (Not so long ago, he wasn’t certain of the reciprocity, of how Bucky felt, if Peter was more than just a scratch to an itch he couldn’t quite reach alone, but now… MJ would scowl at the wording if she knew how he thought of them, but he and Bucky  _ belong _ to each other, and it feels  _ right _ in a way that nothing in Peter’s life has ever felt before.)

As Peter fingers an already fading mark from the night before, a pout on his lips, Bucky’s gaze zeroes in on the same patch of skin, tip of his tongue flicking out to wet lips still slightly swollen from their morning makeout session, and Peter’s pulse rises.

(The bruises never stay, but they certainly have fun making them, again and again and again.)


	9. day 9: little red riding hood/big bad wolf

_ Never go into the woods alone, dear heart, _ his aunt had always whispered to him when he was a child, clinging to her hand as they walked along the garden behind their home, stopping to admire the buttercups Peter’s uncle had planted for her the year previous. Her eyes, dark and beautiful, had always darted to the treeline, as if fearful of someone ( _ something _ ) hearing her speak against it.  _ There are creatures inside, cruel and vicious, that would enjoy nothing more than to hurt a sweet boy like you. _

Her words had scared him as a boy, put terror into his heart and his dreams, frightening figures dancing along in his mind, clawed fingers and fanged teeth reaching for him in the dark of the night.

As he aged, however, they only served to intrigue him.

_ What could possibly live in there? What could terrify an entire village into avoiding the forest for so long? _

(When he is eighteen, he resolves to find out.)

The forest is much denser than he had thought they were, and it feels as though it takes  _ hours _ for him to reach a small clearing, but the sun is blocked by the thick branches above, so he can’t be sure exactly how much time has passed.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining it, the flash of silver in the distance, but then he sees it again, and again, and then it’s too close, coming too fast for Peter to process, to even think of running away, if he could even find his way back out.

The little bit of sunlight shining through the trees reflects off the metal of…  _ an arm? _ Peter wonders. It’s connected to a broad-shouldered body, a chest as wide as Peter. Long strands of hair hang in front of blank, slate-hued eyes, tangling with a thick beard that can’t hide the sharp jawline underneath it. As Peter stares, the corners of those cold eyes crinkle, the stranger’s lips moving in a poor imitation of a smile, making Peter panic, his back hitting the body of a tree he’s certain wasn’t there only a moment before.

“You shouldn’t have come into my forest, little boy.”


	10. day 10: sex tape

The screen blurs before the lens focuses, Bucky’s amused face coming into view, as perfect as ever.

“Okay, so you just press the red square and then…” Peter gestures vaguely at himself, turning the phone toward himself.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Bucky drawls, Brooklyn accent thicker than usual, sending an embarrassing shiver down Peter’s spine, “I know how to use most modern technology.”

Peter flushes. “No, right, yeah, I know, I just, um.” He rubs the back of his neck, biting his lip, which draws Bucky’s eye light a moth to the light, and isn’t that flattering, to have someone like Bucky look at him like he’s never seen someone so fascinating in his lifetime? “I’m nervous, I guess.”

Bucky’s gaze softens. “We don’t have to do this, doll,” he murmurs, and Peter  _ melts _ at the name. (Actually, now he thinks about it, he turns into a puddle at pretty much everything Bucky calls him. So he’s easy, sue him.)

“No! No, I want to,” he assures the other man almost instantly. “I want you to have it so you won’t-” His jaw snaps shut. There he goes, letting his mouth run away without him.

Sharply, Bucky demands, “So I won’t  _ what _ .” Peter turns his head, but the soldier isn’t having it, two fingers gripping his chin firmly and directing him to look back at the older man. Again, he says, “So I won’t  _ what _ ,” but his voice is softer now, his eyes searching Peter’s, the little dent between his eyebrows appearing with his concern.

“Forget me,” Peter finally mumbles in response, and he closes his eyes before he can see the pity he knows will fill Bucky’s. “While I’m in Boston. I don’t want-” He’s afraid he’ll break Bucky’s phone, still in his hand, so he lets it fall to the bed. “I don’t want you to forget me.”

It’s silent for a long time, and Peter wants to run away to avoid…  _ whatever _ is about to happen, but Bucky’s hold doesn’t falter, the grip of metal warmed by Peter’s own flesh  _ firm _ . Finally, Bucky’s voice breaks through the quiet. “I was going to mention it later,” he says, “but now’s as good a time as any, I guess.” Peter’s pulse pounds in his ears, and he braces himself, muscles tensing. “Stark offered me an apartment near your school, told me he’d rather have me there to back you up than have me here,  _ brooding _ .” There’s so much offense in the word, a laugh is shocked out of Peter; he finally opens his eyes, and there’s a gentleness in Bucky’s that Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “I was gonna take him up on it anyway, but even if I wasn’t, I’d never be able to get you outta my head, sugar, video or no.”

Peter’s heart  _ flies _ . “Same,” he breathes, and Bucky’s responding smile is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.


	11. day 11: shower

The best part of his day is  _ this: _ Peter, warm and sleep-soft, his eyes still closed in an effort to  _ keep the sleep, babe, shh, _ trusting Bucky to guide him where he needs to be, to take care of him until he’s ready to do it himself.

A gentle tap on the outside of one thigh urges Peter to step out of the sweatpants he’d donned the night before. (They’re his, Bucky notes, and a swell of affection washes over him.) Peter blindly reaches, balances himself with his palms atop Bucky’s shoulders, slipping out of Bucky’s clothing. The steam from the running shower is dense, a fog already covering the mirror and the opaque glass of the stall. (Peter used to favor colder showers - not  _ freezing _ , but more  _ tepid _ \- until he’d noticed the way Bucky rubbed at his shoulder afterward, at the place where metal meets scar tissue, and he’d pestered and begged until Bucky had admitted that cooler water temperatures bother him, after which he’d insisted on only hot water; it’s such a small thing, only a drop in the ocean of things to prove that Peter  _ cares _ , but Bucky’s heart still stutters, nonetheless.)

He wraps his flesh arm around Peter’s waist, leads him to the stall and opens the door, guiding Peter carefully inside.

Peter’s moan as the water rushes over him makes Bucky’s cock twitch, but he ignores it, turns the smaller man to face him and lathers up the cloth with Peter’s favorite soap (Bucky’s) and begins the process of gently washing his boyfriend, fond smile quirking his lips every time Peter pouts at having to shift, wanting to lean against Bucky rather than move. All the while, those honey eyes remain closed.

“Hair,” the soldier murmurs and presses a kiss to the hollow of Peter’s throat when he leans his head back, easy and unguarded,  _ trusting _ in a way Bucky knows no one else has the courage to be around him yet. (Sometimes, if he thinks on it too much, his chest goes tight and his eyes burn, so he tries not to dwell on it too often.)

When all is done, Peter clean and soft and relaxed, his eyes finally open.

“Love you,” he tells Bucky, low and so sincere it  _ hurts _ .

Their lips meet, gentle and chaste. “I love you, too.”

( _ This _ is the best part of his day.)


	12. day 12: panty kink

“You look so pretty, kitten,” Bucky praises, a low rumble that sends a shudder through Peter’s entire body. Strong fingers tap at the waistband of the panties, ribbons and satin and lace, delicate and beautiful on slim hips. Peter’s cheeks flush with pleasure. “Tell me how they feel.”

“They-” Peter swallows and licks his lips. Bucky can’t help the way his eyes follow the movement of the boy’s tongue, his memory reminding him of how  _ perfect _ it feels sliding down his cock. “They feel good.”

“Just  _ good _ , kitten?” Bucky tuts in disappointment, shaking his head, hair falling in his eyes before he pushes it back with one hand. “I thought, when you asked for them, you’d feel more than just  _ good _ .” His fingers dip behind the waistband, tugging the material gently before letting it snap lightly back into place.

Peter ducks his head. “No, I- I do.” Bucky waits, watching the smaller man struggle to find his words. “They feel like… They feel like nothing and everything, like- like I’m not wearing anything at all, but then I’ll move, and they’ll- they’ll rub against my-” His face flares bright, and Bucky is charmed; for all that his boy can spout the purest  _ filth _ when they’re having sex, drunk on his own pleasure and Bucky’s lips and tongue and cock, he clams up when he’s asked directly.

Finally, Bucky takes pity on him, the soft stammering as Peter tries to continue, and wraps an arm around that tiny waist, pulls him in and slips one bulky thigh between both of Peter’s. Soft curls fall back as Peter tips his head, that sweet mouth dropping open when Bucky urges him to rut against his thigh. “You like when all that satin rubs against your cock, is that it, doll?” Peter’s response is nearly incoherent, his entire focus on rocking his hips, seeking whatever pleasure Bucky allows in this moment. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” asks Bucky rhetorically, leaning down to place a kiss against that lovely pale neck, arched and just  _ begging _ Bucky for a mark. “How about,” Bucky murmurs, pausing to suck at the delicate skin, “you hop on the bed, hands and knees?” Peter whimpers, hips rocking more urgently against Bucky’s thigh, then whines when the taller man forces him to stop. “Now, sugar,” he orders, grin sharp and wolf-like, one hand moving to cup the boy’s rear, fingers slipping beneath the silky fabric, gently pushing it to the side. When one fingertip brushes over his hole, Peter’s eyes slide shut and he pushes back. “Get on the bed and let me push your pretty little panties to the side, just enough, and fuck you, just like that.” Another whimper, broken and needy. “Let ‘em rub over your cock until you  _ ruin _ ‘em for me, baby, how’d you like that?”

Peter’s only response is to scramble onto the bed.


	13. day 13: you bumped into me and my coffee went everywhere

He’s lucky that the drink isn’t scalding; as it is, it’s still uncomfortable as it seeps through both his hoodie and his shirt.  _ Fuck. _ Just the start to his day he needs.

“Oh my gosh,” a sweet voice breathes, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m late for my class, and I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m  _ so _ sorry, sir!”

Bucky’s attention is automatically drawn to the way his accidental assailant’s teeth nibble nervously at his lower lip as his eyes (honey and candlelight and innocence) dart between Bucky’s face and his chest. Bucky’s always been weak for pretty eyes and beautiful boys; he flashes a grin. “Don’t worry about it, doll,” he chuckles and dabs ineffectually at his hoodie with the napkins that had been given with his order. He’ll have to go home and change before he goes to meet Steve at the station - and pick up a new coffee. The boy’s eyes widen a little and a prickle of pleasure moves up Bucky’s spine. “Just be careful and keep your eyes up from now on, okay? There’s some petty people in this city.” As a cop, he’s been to countless scenes where victims have been shot for so much less than a spilled drink.

A sheepish grin and an embarrassed laugh is the boy’s response. “Got it,” he grins, rubbing the back of his neck before he frowns, glancing back down to Bucky’s wet hoodie. “I really do feel awful,” he tells Bucky, expression apologetic.

Bucky waves him off. “I’ll be alright; just gotta make a quick stop home and change, then I’ll be right as rain.”

Those beautiful eyes avoid Bucky’s as the smaller man shuffles almost nervously on his feet. “Still…” he says, trailing off. “Um, I’m Peter, by the way.”

_ Adorable, _ Bucky thinks. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, Peter,” he teases and gestures to his clothes, “but you  _ did _ spill my coffee.”

_ Peter _ blushes. “Right. I…” He struggles for his words, then finally- “We should- We should go for one. A coffee, I mean,” Peter adds hastily, face getting darker with every word. “So I can make it up to you.”

Bucky pretends to consider. “Was this your goal all along? Do you spill men’s coffees all day for this?”

It startles a laugh from the boy, relaxing and joking back, “Well, okay, so it’s not a perfect plan.”

“Believe me, you don’t need to soak a man to get his attention, sugar.” Peter smiles shyly, pleased. “Let me give you my number, doll, then you can get to your class.”

As he watches Peter walk away, a bounce in his step, Bucky pulls at his wet clothing and smiles.


	14. day 14: argument

Peter’s eyes are shining with anger, but there are no tears. ( _ That _ , Bucky knows, is what would break him, watching Peter cry over him.) They’ve let an uneasy silence settle between them.

“Why?” Peter whispers eventually, and his voice is  _ so _ small. Bucky doesn’t speak. “Tell me  _ why _ you would ever go back there because I-” His arms rise, hands waving helplessly. “I just  _ can’t _ figure it out, James.”

Bucky hears  _ why are you leaving me _ and, for a moment, he flashes back to another, smaller apartment in Brooklyn, Peter still high off of his acceptance into his top choice university, and Bucky breaking the news of his enlistment, the echoes of that conversation, of Peter’s fears, circling his brain. “It’s what I  _ know _ , Peter.”  _ Normal jobs, they’re not the same. _

“You know  _ me _ !” Peter protests angrily, slashing a hand through the air, and now-  _ now  _ there are tears, and Bucky’s heart falls, heavy as an anchor as it settles in the pit of his stomach. “You just- You just  _ got back _ and now you’re leaving me again!  _ Why _ would you want to go back?” His voice breaks and so does Bucky’s heart.

He’s silent for so long, Peter turns his back, a heart wrenching sob torn from him, and finally, Bucky finds his voice. “I’m not leaving you, doll,” he says softly and moves behind his husband, the glint of moonlight off Peter’s ring tightening his throat. “I just- I need to go back. Nothing is- I can’t  _ explain _ it, Pete, but I  _ need _ to do this.”

Peter’s slim shoulders shake, but no more cries escape him. “I was so  _ scared _ you wouldn’t come back the first time, and I-” His breath hitches. Bucky’s chest hurts. “I  _ can’t, _ James.”

No words come to him; all Bucky can do is wrap his arms around Peter’s shaking form and hold him tight.


	15. day 15: making out

Nights like this - the two of them comfortable on the couch, a movie neither of them are paying attention to playing on the screen, their bellies full, blankets wrapped around them - are what Peter thinks of as the definition of a ‘perfect night’.

Bucky’s flesh arm is under Peter, supporting his head as cool metal fingers stroke lightly along a sharp jawline. Their shared breath is hot between them, the scents of the popcorn Bucky had eaten and the hot chocolate Peter loves on a night in mingling, oddly pleasant.

Bucky’s eyes (and  _ god, _ Peter would be content just to look into them all day, every day, and write entire Shakespearean sonnets dedicated to the ways he would gladly  _ drown _ in them) are staring at his lips, focused and intense as always. When he moves in, shifts closer and pulls Peter in tight so he doesn’t roll off the sectional, and their lips meet, Peter can’t stop the moan it pulls from deep in his chest, unbridled desire made obvious. Bucky’s stubble scrapes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine and bringing a smile to the older man’s lips as they meet Peter’s.

Their noses bump as they find the right angle. Peter flicks his tongue out to lick at the line of Bucky’s lower lip, whimpering softly when Bucky slips a thigh between both of his; he doesn’t rock, doesn’t pull Peter closer, just situates his leg comfortably and rests one heavy hand over Peter’s thigh as he deepens the kiss, teeth nipping gently at Peter’s bottom lip.

The movie dialogue is soft background noise as they remain wrapped up in each other, bodies as close as possible, lips moving languidly against the other’s, content in each other’s presence and warmth.


	16. day 16: breeding

It’s a beautiful sight his boy makes: face down on the bed, hips hiked in the air with one of the  _ many _ pillows Peter has bought since they’ve moved into their new place; the backs of his thighs are a fading pink from Bucky’s gentle slaps, shiny with Peter’s natural slick and Bucky’s cum, both of which are leaking sluggishly from Peter’s well-used, swollen hole. The room and everything in it is  _ saturated _ with their shared scent, which makes Bucky’s Alpha brain rumble with satisfaction.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous like this, doll,” announces Bucky, his voice rough and low. He runs one large hand up the back of Peter’s right thigh to cup the gentle curve of his ass, thumb sliding through some of the creamy mess, guiding it back into Peter’s body. He can’t contain his smile when the smaller man whimpers quietly as the tip of Bucky’s thumb slips inside of him. “Like a goddamn painting.” He knee-walks closer and leans over Peter’s exhausted form, blanketing his front along Peter’s back, hard cock slipping between lubed cheeks. He reaches around to cradle Peter’s belly and groans, touching his forehead to Peter’s shoulder as he feels the soft swell of it. “ _ Fuck, _ ” he breathes, trailing a line of butterfly kisses over Peter’s shoulder blade, “feels like you’re already knocked up, sugar, you’ve got so much of me in you.”

“’M so  _ full, _ Alpha.”

“I know,” Bucky tells him and noses at Peter’s mating scar, scrapes his teeth over the marks just to feel Peter shudder beneath him. “One more, baby,” he says, and Peter  _ whines _ . “Let Alpha breed you one more time and then you can rest.” He shifts his hips, cockhead sliding over his Omega’s hole once, twice, three times before it catches on the rim and allows Bucky to slip inside, the glide easy and like  _ home _ .

Little noises are forced out of Peter with every thrust, joining the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the obscene squelch of slick and semen being fucked out of him.

By the time Bucky comes, his knot swelling thick and locking inside his Omega’s body, Peter is sobbing from the overstimulation, fingers clenching sporadically in the bedsheets by his head while Bucky pants above him and does his best to comfort him. “That’s it, sugar, you’re finished now. Let Alpha breed you all day, like the perfect Omega you are. Go to sleep; Alpha will take care of you now.”

Bucky settles them on their sides so he doesn’t crush Peter’s smaller body. He’ll have to find one of their plugs so their hard work doesn’t drip on the sheets through the night.

With any luck, Bucky muses, once again cradling the gentle curve of Peter’s stomach, they’ll have their family soon.


End file.
